


you are not your own

by trans-magnus-bane (thesorrowoflizards)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Affection, Agony Rune, Alec Wants To Give Him Those Nice Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Communication, Cuddling, Discussions of Transphobia/Misgendering/Etc., Dysphoria, Emotionally Hurt Magnus Bane, Episode: s02e12 You Are Not Your Own, Episode: s02e15 A Problem of Memory, Eventual Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Good Boyfriend Alec, Heavy Angst, Hurt Magnus Bane, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Abuse, Internalized Transphobia, Love, M/M, Magic, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane-centric, Magnus's past, Mentions of Self Harm/Suicidal Thoughts, Might make this a series?, Nightmares, Non-Linear Narrative, PTSD, Particularly Unconditional Love Hugs Acceptance and Orgasms, Post-Episode: s02e12 You Are Not Your Own, Post-Magnus Bane & Valentine Morgenstern Body Swap, Pre-Canon, Talking About Your Goddamn Problems, Torture, Trans Magnus Bane, Trans Male Character, Transgender Author, Transitioning, alec is trying his best but he kind of fucked up, and not because she's a vampire, asmodeous sucks, bc i haven't watched the episode in a while, bending canon a little, camille also sucks, don't like don't read you fucking dumbass assholes, im not great at endings dont @ me, kind of, magnus is traumatized, mentions of Asmodeous's A+ Parenting, mlm author, more like lots of flashbacks i guess?, more likely than you think, not about the trans thing the body swap thing, quite a bit of it, so much physical affection, so timeline is wacky, srsly if you don't like trans/nb people why would you read a fic about them, they love each other so much guys, trans author, transgender Magnus Bane, vent fic, what?? one of my fics?? beta read???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-05 10:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesorrowoflizards/pseuds/trans-magnus-bane
Summary: Magnus had been in the wrong body before.(Or: Magnus has always pulled himself out of hell. That hasn't changed.)





	you are not your own

**Author's Note:**

> **OVERLY DETAILED WARNINGS, just in case:**  
>  extremly brief mention of rape (not magnus, his mother), implied/referenced emotional manipulation and child abuse. also very lowkey implied domestic abuse/emotional manipulation from camille.  
> internalized transphobia, lots of descriptions of dypshoria, coming out (it goes well, bc we all know alec is a great bf even if he fucks up sometimes), descriptions of transitioning, mentions of slurs and shit (only one is actually said-tr*nny). most of this isn't really explicit though, it shouldn't be triggering unless you're very sensitive to any of these topics. in which case, no harm done, but tread carefully
> 
> also, the timeline's a little whacked: for example, they're past the "i love you" milestone but this directly after 2x12 and i'm pretty sure they got there after that, but like...... oh well

 

Magnus had been in the wrong body before.

Being thrown screaming back into that feeling had triggered old memories, old hurts.

Agony rune aside (and _god,_ that was a whole new set of traumas to deal with, a whole other can of worms) Magnus had too much of his past rearing up to bite him.

Being in the wrong body.

Skin too tight, too wrong, everything _wrong wrong wrong._ Feeling like plastic, feeling trapped in his own (not his own, _not his)_ skin, everything pressing down on him. Air seemingly too thick to breathe, and his fingers clumsy and not his.

And not just that, but he was _trapped._

Strapped down, unable to escape, helpless—

His magic didn’t come to his fingertips no matter how desperately he called, and all around him people he loved seemed to look down on him with hatred.

It felt like he was young again, desperately trying to hide the body he’d been born in, trying to deal with the flames of dysphoria licking at every inch of his skin.

When he’d been a child, he’d known there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t quite his mother’s daughter.

And when he’d realized, eventually, it had just been yet another thing in a long line of things wrong with him.

A monster, in more ways than one.

But he’d grown, he’d learned—first covering with baggy clothes and makeshift binders (although they were not called such at the time) and then eventually glamours.

And then his father had taught him bloody, ancient magic. Dark and powerful, ways to bend reality.

But Magnus didn’t want to bend and break people or worlds—instead he reshaped his body, under the careful eye of his father.

He shaped himself to be exactly as he wanted.

Or he tried to.

Asmodeous had always been controlling, and he held all the cards—he had the knowledge Magnus needed to safely do as he so desperately wished.

And he withheld it, rewarding tidbits and trinkets in exchange for Magnus’s obedience.

He took it away when Magnus didn’t do as he pleased.

It had been a dark time in his life.

But Magnus learned.

And when he eventually escaped his father, banished him back to the Hell from whence he came, Magnus knew what to do.

He shaped himself, he made _himself_ the man he wanted to be. He pulled himself out of Hell, as he always had.

It took him decades to figure it out, tweaking it over the years, like magical hormone treatments.

Mundane science hadn’t existed the way it did back then, but he grew creative.

Both with magic, changing his body slowly and making himself the way he wanted to be, and with the way he presented himself—careful brushes of makeup, clothing styled and molded just so to show off his male figure, working out to develop muscles and a more traditionally masculine form.

It was slow going—he was able to pass in public, although he still got those looks (where they narrowed their eyes or tilted their head like they were trying to figure him out, girl or boy or _thing?_ ) and even the occasional slur or insult (he was used to those, by now, from so many different people for so many different reasons, it almost didn’t sting as much anymore) but it was _working._

Combining magicks and spells and potions in carefully scrawled and tested theories, even blending with mundane science as it evolved…

Some of it was ambitious—transfiguring major body parts was harder than one might think. But with help, with research, with _power,_ it worked.

He had setbacks (Camille telling him he was _too girly with all that makeup_ and using his trust in her against him over and over again _,_ another lover leaping back with foul words about how they hadn’t realized he was a _tranny,_ days where it all just came flooding back to him and it _hurt so much)_ but… he kept going. Kept marching on.

He pulled himself out of hell, like he always had.

(He had help, now, Catarina and Ragnor, even others like Raphael and Dot and a werewolf boy in Paris who had always supported him, a Seelie woman who confided in him that she, too, had been born feeling _wrong._ People who, over the years, helped him, and he helped them in return.) 

And over time, it got better and better. He felt more and more like what he should be, more and more comfortable in his own skin.

And after so long, _relief._

The last spell, and finally no more glamours or binders that made it hurt to breathe (how many times had Catarina scolded him for binding too tight, how many times had she helped heal his ribs and told him _he couldn’t keep doing this_ ) and he was _himself._

Wholly and completely himself.

And he had a body that was _his._

He’d been looking in the mirror and seeing only the flaws for so long that he spent what felt like _hours_ just running his hands and eyes over his narrow hips and broad shoulders and flat chest, wanting to giggle and grin and laugh because he was a _man_ and no one would make the mistake of thinking he wasn’t again.

It wasn’t perfect—there were hints of that truth hidden all over him, and there were days he’d feel _fake_ and artificial, not the real thing, like he was lying… but most days, it just felt… good. He’d made himself the way he was, and that wasn’t a bad thing.

He didn’t keep it to himself, either—he was one of the leading experts in the small field, along with Catarina who had been with him every step of the way.

(She’d always been better with healing and medical magic, and she was the one he’d trusted with performing the most major spells.

Ragnor had helped too, but it was hardly his specialty—but he had given Magnus potions to ease the pain and assist in restoring his energy after more exhaustive spells sapped it, helped the best he could.

Neither of them had never judged him. They accepted Magnus as who he was.)

They’d helped people, young downworlders and even mundanes, helping them the best they could. Helping them transition, supporting them, giving them a place to go.

He hadn’t felt dysphoria like he had back then in a long time. He had moments, flickers of doubt and uncertainty, but he was so much _better._ It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.

And now…

Now he was thrown violently back into that feeling.

Screaming. _Wrong._ Why wasn’t anyone helping him, why was he trapped and helpless and—

Where was Catarina? Where was Ragnor? Where was Alec?

Where were they?

His body was all wrong, he could _feel_ it, feel the too-big feet and too-pale skin, feel the lack of hair on his head and the too-thick fingers. It was all wrong, down to the most intimate parts of him.

And his magic, his magic was missing—he could feel it, vague and nebulous, but he couldn’t reach it. It was attached to his body, his blood, and he didn’t have it anymore and it seemed everything he held dear was _gone._

And then—Alec.

Magnus didn’t hide himself. Not on purpose, anyway. (He hadn’t hidden himself in a long, long time.)

But it had never exactly… _come up_ with Alec.

And now, Alec was staring at him with such rage and hatred, he _slammed_ Magnus against a wall and threatened him and Magnus wanted to cry and scream.

He knew, logically, that Alec didn’t know. That he couldn’t.

But it _hurt,_ for so many reasons.

How couldn’t Alec know it was him? Surely he noticed how oddly Valentine was surely acting (god, there was another violation, Valentine was _in his body_ and his magic was being used by that _monster)_ and surely… why didn’t he believe Magnus? How could Valentine possibly know these things?

And then there was—

It had never come up with Alec. That Magnus was transgender.

He had no idea what Alec would think.

Hell, Alec might already know—Magnus didn’t know if it was in his Clave file, but he’d never hidden it . It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but it was no secret, either.

But Magnus had no idea what Alec thought of it. Of him.

And if he didn’t know… how would he react? Especially as Magnus had never directly told him?

Alec had grown up in a conservative society, one no doubt unkind to such things.

But Alec had already grown past so much hate—hate for downworlders, hate for men loving men. Perhaps he could grow past this, too?

(Magnus tried not to picture what _questions_ Alec might ask, how it might change the way he looks at him. How it might change if Alec wants to be with him.

It’s irrational, Alec wouldn’t leave him, would he? Not for something like that… right?)

( _He’s_ **_gay_** _,_ a cruel voice whispered in his head, _what if he wants a **real** man? _But he cut it off violently because _he was,_ he _was_ and surely… surely Alec would see that?)

And this—Alec looking at him with unadulterated hatred and disgust—it was one of Magnus’s great fears.

That, combined with the _wrongwrongwrong_ of being trapped in a body that isn’t his, with all the hating watchful eyes on him, judging him, was almost enough to break him.

And then the _torture._

Dragged from the cell, he thought that at least he’d be distracted from the pain of these thoughts that he couldn’t keep away.

But then he was strapped down _(trapped, helpless, in the belly of the beast)_ and then the _agony._

Memories, the worst torture they could devise. (But that wasn’t enough, no, because it _hurt,_ it was white hot fangs chewing at his bones and magma poured into his veins.)

So many memories burning into his brain, so many things—

His stepfather, the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of angry words and then agonized screams.

His mother, bloody and still, she’d loved him and then she’d hated him and what would she think of him now? With the blood on his hands, no longer her sweet daughter but instead son of the man who’d raped her, son of a demon?

(He was not his mother’s daughter, but his father’s son.)

And then—

There were other things. Brief flashes—taking away Clary’s memories, Ragnor’s death, the death of others he’d loved and lost over the years, glimpses of Camille and every time he’d caught her with someone else, every time she’d laughed at him or made him feel small. People throwing insults or slurs that he should’ve brushed off but lodged under his skin like thorns pricking his flesh. Nails digging painfully into his arm, a slap to the face, an aching heart…

And then that _feeling._

It dredged up everything, and all these memories whirled in his head, forcing him to relive them over and over, time dilating and stretching and swirling around him as it felt like he was seeing it all at once except there were _gaps,_ none of the good, his friends erased from the timeline as all the bad things bore down on him at once.

So it was all that—the pain and the memories—and then it was _this._ It made him relive it all. The wrong body, too soft and curved in the wrong places, slight and small, slim shoulders and wider hips, an uncomfortable weight on his chest (not just the unwanted breasts but the _crushing_ helplessness restricting his lungs) and between his legs—parts of him were missing, and there was too much in others... It was all _wrong wrong wrong_ and he wanted to scream.

(He did scream, he screamed and screamed for his mother and for Cat and Ragnor and Alexander, why weren’t they coming, why wasn’t anyone helping him, what had he done wrong?)

And when it was finally over, he was left trembling and set adrift. There was no one coming, and he was going to die.

It was scary how he was just accepting that.

It didn’t mean he was going to stop fighting, but he didn’t think he’d win.

After everything, this was how it ended.

 

That was not how it ended.

It seemed to happen so fast after that, everything colliding together—fast and slow all at once, one frame after the other, all stopmotion and flipbooks.

There was Valentine and fighting and then he was looking at _himself_ (not him, his _face,_ except disgust and contempt curls his lips, Valentine lingering on his every expression, his body _violated_ ) and then he was suspended midair and there was _tugging_ and light and fire in his bones…

He fell to the floor in a heap, disoriented, the room had spun and he was on the floor and—

He pulled himself up _(he pulled himself out of hell like he always had)_ and he was shaking like a leaf, staring at his hands. _His_ hands, brown and laden with rings, slimmer than those pale hands that had killed so many of his kind. _His_ hands, with painted fingernails and faint callouses, hands that had warm sparks of magic tingling in them.

He looked across, he couldn’t bear to be distracted—and there was _Valentine,_ the face that he himself had worn only moments ago, and the _hatred_ was back.

He tried to escape, tried to run—Magnus grabbed his arm, ignoring the way his body was shaking and his breath was coming in stuttering gasps, putting aside the shudders of disgust and relief and fear because _Valentine was not getting away._

There was a struggle, his body ached and he couldn’t let himself think about the violation or the memories or the agony, just focusing on _he would not escape_. Valentine was _not_ escaping.

The door burst open, Clary tackled him, and they both disappeared in golden light.

And Magnus let himself fall, shuddering and weak, his job done.

But only for a moment—before he was pulling himself to his feet _(out of hell)_ and standing on shaking legs.

 

The aftermath was… not great.

He felt broken and destroyed, like a razed and dilapidated city after a ruinous hurricane. Like abandoned ruins left to be overgrown in the wild, abandoned by anyone who had once lived there.

Hollowed out and alone.

It was over, and he could _breathe_ now. But it didn’t feel over.

He was still suffocating.

He felt like all the progress he’d made had been swept away, his mask ripped from him and shattered, his legs knocked out from under him.

And in the process, the trust he had in Alexander—the unshakeable, unconditional trust—had inadvertently been broken.

It wasn’t beyond repair (or so Magnus hoped) but it had shaken him to the core.

Just when he needed it the most, when he desperately needed Alec to lean on, to catch him as he fell, he was no longer sure if he could.

He _needed_ Alec, needed his support, but he wasn’t sure he could rely on him.

A part of him insisted it wasn’t Alec’s fault. He couldn’t have known, Valentine was a master manipulator and someone who had hurt people close to him.

But another part of him just screamed _He should have known._ How could Alec have looked Magnus in the eyes and _not seen him?_

He knew it wasn’t fair but it _hurt._

And then there was—well, the truth. About Magnus. About his gender identity, about what he’d been born as.

Logically, he knew he didn’t really owe Alec an explanation. Before now, he hadn’t given it much thought beyond worried musings that he’d always brushed aside. (First because it was too soon, he hardly had Alec so he shouldn’t worry yet about losing him, right? And then insecurities, telling himself it didn’t matter, and then even as it festered inside him he hid it away because he couldn’t bear the potential consequences.)

But now… There was no way Alec would understand how traumatic this… _incident_ had been.

Even without this, it was bad enough—the agony rune, the violation of Valentine in his body, his magic being taken away. But _this…_ Alec wouldn’t understand why he was this upset, would he?

Or perhaps he was overreacting. If he played his cards right, he could easily play it off as a reaction to the rest of it. It had been horrible enough, after all.

And he didn’t owe Alec an explanation. He didn’t owe Alec that truth, especially after Alec had broken his trust the way he had.

But…

Magnus found he _wanted_ to tell Alec.

He wanted to spill everything: tell him about his mother and his stepfather, tell him about Asmodeous and his childhood… tell him all about how he’d been born feeling _wrong_ and he’d spent centuries molding himself into who he was now.

How it wasn’t fake or a mask, how he’d been making himself into who he already was deep down.

He wanted to tell Alec everything, and either drive him away before he got more attached, make him realize that Magnus was _too much,_ or… Or be accepted, fall into his arms and let himself be cared for, let someone who understood completely comfort him.

 

(He could talk to Catarina—he wanted to, really—but she was so busy and why should he bother her with this? And anyway, even she didn’t know _everything_. Magnus had never had the urge to tell anyone his whole story before, never trusted anyone that much.

Well, he’d trusted Ragnor that much, although he hadn’t exactly shared everything on purpose. He hadn’t had that _urge_ to share. But Ragnor had known, and he’d cared anyway.

But then, Ragnor was dead now.

Gone.)

 

But really, Magnus didn’t expect either of those reactions.

Alec wasn’t cruel enough to leave him right there ~~(was he?)~~ but Magnus doubted even he was open enough to truly not care about all of those… flaws. All of these terrible things Magnus had done, these terrible things he _was._

(His father’s son.)

Surely, Alec would need some time. He’d have questions.

Hopefully, however, he would get over it. He would stay with Magnus anyway.

Or at least he’d let him down gently.

Either way, Magnus doubted he would be cruel.

That didn’t mean that it wouldn’t hurt when— _if_ —Alec left him. If anything, it made it worse.

But at least he had a chance.

A narrow but _gleaming_ chance—that Alec would stay, that Alec would love him despite it all, that there would be someone who knew it all and still loved him truly, that he would share a bed and a life with someone who knew him completely.

Someone who knew every inch of him, and loved him despite how flawed he was, despite everything he’d done.

But… would Alec?

Was Magnus expecting too much?

They had barely gotten to the _I love you_ s, and it was hardly fair to expect him to be Alec’s last when he was also his first.

Even if Magnus was head-over-heels for Alec, did Alec feel the same way?

It wasn’t fair to expect that of him. To expect unconditional acceptance, to expect love or devotion.

It wasn’t fair at all.

And then—it wasn’t just that.

Magnus was _angry._

He hated that he was, but—how hadn’t he known? How could Alec have…?

God, he was going in circles.

It all hurt so much.

Magnus’s slowly spiraling thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of glass clanking harshly together.

It was enough to snap him back to the present.

Alec was still here.

The others had left, and Alec had likely been tidying up. He did that when he was nervous—cleaned and did chores, or trained relentlessly.

Magnus pulled himself to his feet, feeling like he was struggling to put one foot in front of the other. After everything had gone down, he had gone back to his (thankfully untouched) bed, collapsing into the sheets and burrowing his face into the pillows.

Trying to ready himself to come face to face with the world again.

He wasn’t ready yet, but he slipped out of his room anyway.

Sure enough, Alec was picking up the remains of a shattered vase. He looked up as Magnus entered, expression open.

He made his way to the couch. Near Alec, but not quite in reach. He could feel Alec’s gaze on him.

He sat down, unable to help how he curled in on himself a little, wrists resting between his knees, shoulders hunched slightly.

He heard Alec inhale, readying himself for whatever he was going to say.

“Magnus…” he said, voice soft and full of guilt. “I am… I am _so_ sorry for everything you had to go through.”

Magnus felt numb, like all the pain he’d been feeling only moments ago was reduced to loud ringing in his ears now that he was faced with… _this._

“That agony rune made me relive… memories that I’ve spent _centuries_ trying to forget.” he said finally.

Alec’s face twisted, an awful mixture of sympathy and guilt and sadness on his face.

“Magnus, tell me how to fix this,” he said, almost desperately. “Just tell me what to do. Please.”

Magnus didn’t know what to say.

There wasn’t—there was nothing to _fix._ This couldn’t _be_ fixed. It couldn’t be taken back.

But—he didn’t want Alec to punish himself, to pull away. And it wasn’t his fault, was it? It couldn’t be. Magnus didn’t know how to deal with it if it was.

 _He couldn’t have known,_ Magnus told himself again, repeating it silently like a mantra.

“Magnus,” Alec whispered, sounding heartbroken. He looked like he wanted to reach out for Magnus, but wasn’t sure the touch would be accepted.

Truly, Magnus wasn’t sure.

Part of him wanted to be alone, to not be touched, to suffer in silence and scream into his pillows until his throat was raw, to go and shower and scrub until his skin was rubbed red.

But the much larger part of him wanted to be _grounded._ Wanted Alec to _stay,_ to hold him close and reassure him he still loved him, that he would never make a mistake like this again. Wanted to be reminded that he was loved and safe, that nothing was going to hurt him. That Alec wouldn’t _let_ anything hurt him.

His face twisted with pain, on the verge of crying, looking down as he held back tears.

He didn’t know how to ask. If he should ask.

If it would make him feel worse or better.

“I… I can go,” Alec offered quietly. The heartbreak was gone, tucked away deep down. Now he was just determined, gentle, intent on helping Magnus, putting aside his own guilt and feelings to address Magnus’s.

“Please don’t,” Magnus said before he could stop himself. “P-please… just…”

Alec sat down next to Magnus on the couch, taking care not to touch Magnus. Keeping his distance, giving Magnus space.

Magnus felt like there was a yawning pit between them, and he wanted desperately to bridge the gap.

Finally, he broke.

He didn’t know it if would help, if he should do this, but right now it didn’t matter. He just wanted to feel Alec’s arms around him, feel his solid and reassuring warmth.

He turned and leaned forward, practically falling against Alec, arms weaving around his waist and head buried in his shoulder. Shuddering slightly as suppressed tears leaked from his eyes and dampened Alec’s shirt.

Alec stiffened in surprise for only a moment before his arms wrapped around Magnus, pulling him in closer, hand rubbing his back soothingly.

Magnus sobbed against his shoulder, nearly going completely limp in his arms.

It was too much.

Alec’s voice was a low murmur—Magnus couldn’t understand what he was saying but it was somehow comforting anyway. His hand was still rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

Magnus was just…

He couldn’t do this. Not right now. He couldn’t unpack everything, couldn’t tell Alec the whole truth.

But Alec was here. (For now.)

He was going to be… okay. (For now.)

It was nice to just… let go for a bit.

Forget about his secrets, his past. Forget about the fractured trust between them. Forget about his fears of rejection and abandonment.

Just… cry, a bit. Let Alec hold him.

 

After that, Magnus ended up going back to what he always did.

Bottling it up, plastering on a smile and telling the world he was fine.

He didn’t bring up what happened again, and he brushed it off or changed the subject whenever he sensed conversation going in that direction.

He didn’t want to talk about it, to think about it.

He knew he’d have to eventually, but for now he just wanted to escape it all. To use his tried and true method of dealing with trauma: avoiding it like the plague.

But what he managed to avoid during the day came to haunt him at night.

Nightmares—horrific, vivid nightmares. Reliving memories, again and again until they all twisted together.

He tried to keep it away from Alec, tried to keep quiet and still even when he awoke shaking with harsh sobs. Made sure not to disturb him as he slept.

He would quietly slip out of bed, make himself some tea or hot cocoa, and then distract himself. Doing his makeup, reading a book, working on a potion, anything to not think of his mother’s still body or his father’s cold yellow eyes. Anything to not think of the suffocating sense of his body being _wrong,_ of the people he loved looking at him with hatred.

Sometimes, he couldn’t even manage that. The nightmares followed him out of the bedroom, curling in his mind, until he was just staring at the wall trying not to relive the past.

Alec seemed hesitant to bring it up, but Magnus knew that he had noticed.

He was always extra affectionate in the mornings—sometimes casually pulling Magnus into one-armed hugs and kissing his forehead, or taking his hand and rubbing his thumb against Magnus’s knuckles.

If he were to be honest, Magnus appreciated it.

But he knew Alec’s silence couldn’t last forever.

They needed to talk about this. _Magnus_ needed to talk about this.

And it was on such a morning—only several days after the day in question—that Alec finally broke the stalemate.

Magnus was holding his cup of tea, staring into nothing. All he could think of was old memories, old hurts.

And then his visions were shattered by Alexander’s voice.

“There you are,” he said.

Magnus waved a hand, magicking on his makeup before Alec could see.

“Good morning,” he replied, painting a smile on his lips.

“I’d say the same, but it looks like you haven’t slept,” Alec said. He sounded worried. (He’d been worried all week.)

“Should I be offended?” Magnus asked, voice light with playfulness he didn’t feel.

“No,” Alec said, smiling slightly as he stepped closer. “I love that face. But… this is like, the fourth morning in a row that I’ve woken up in an empty bed. Is there something bothering you?”

His dark eyes were searching, concerned.

“Nothing is bothering me,” Magnus said, a little more insistently than he meant to. In an effort to play it off, turn the mood light, he continued, “I’ve even gotten used to your adorable little snores.”

“Hey, I don’t snore,” Alec protested. But he barely smiled at all, worry written all over his face.

Magnus imitated snoring, teasing him. Alec looked a little amused, but he didn’t take the bait.

“Look…” he said softly. “I know you well enough to know something’s going on.” And, reading between the lines, Magnus had no doubt Alec had some idea of what it was, too. He was hardly stupid.

“Alexander, I’m fine,” Magnus said firmly. He smiled, and leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

He lingered for a moment, then said, “So what about you?” He walked past Alec to set his cup down. “Have you decided what you’re going to report to the Clave?”

“I’m torn,” Alec said, giving in and allowing him to change the subject. Magnus nearly sighed aloud in relief. “If I don’t tell the Clave about Luke’s attempt on Valentine’s life, I’m in violation.”

Magnus looked down into his tea, which was now cold. A sudden, bitter thought came to him: that Alec would always follow the Clave, always side with Nephilim over those with demon blood. Over him.

It wasn’t a fair thought. But Alec’s orders had always seemed to take precedent. With the DNA sample, and back with Meliorn and the Cup. And then… when he’d doubted Valentine, when he’d almost believed Magnus… but had fallen back on orders, on the Clave.

He blinked back a few hot tears. No, not now. That wasn’t fair. It was simplifying things.

“If they find out, I could be de-runed,” Alec finished. He was clearly conflicted.

That was an unbearable thought as well—Alec losing something so important, so huge.

And to protect downworlders.

Would he do it?

…Magnus trusted him. He was a good man, a kind man. He had prejudices but he was _trying,_ he was learning and improving and he was so _good._

He could see both sides. He couldn’t blame Alec either way. He didn’t want to.

“Whatever you decide,” he said, finally turning back to him. “I’ll stand by you.”

He always would.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alec asked again.

“Positive,” Magnus said, putting a hand on Alec’s jaw and letting it linger for a moment, before slipping away.

He’d gotten away for now, but he knew Alec wasn’t going to give up.

And even though the very thought of telling Alec made him feel sick and scared, he was glad for that.

 

He was right.

Later that day, Alec was already trying again. It seemed once he’d gained the courage to speak up, it only grew.

Magnus had been lost in yet another flashback. They’d been growing more and more frequent.

Being forced to relive your worst moments in high definition technicolor would do that to a person.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinked, turning towards Alec with a smile that was mostly fake.

“Well, hello,” he said, hoping that Alec would believe he was totally fine but knowing he wouldn’t. “I was just about to make myself a drink.” Which—wasn’t a lie, actually. “Want one?”

“No,” Alec said, sighing. “We’re transporting Valentine to Idris.”

“Even more reason,” Magnus said, with cheer he didn’t feel. His usually smooth movements looked jerky and disjointed. He was trying too hard. “We can toast to Valentine’s highly anticipated departure.”

To be fair, Magnus _was_ pleased to have him out of the city.

“I love you, and I know something’s wrong,” Alec said. His voice was quiet and serious, and he was clearly not about to take any more of Magnus’s bullshit answers. “Whatever it is… Magnus, I’m here for you.”

“I appreciate it,” Magnus said, “But I’m fine.”

He tried to sound firm but it came out weak—he _wanted_ to talk. He just… didn’t know how. Didn’t know where to start.

His fingers were fidgeting with the steel shaker in his hands, his cheerful smile painfully fake.

“No, you’re not,” Alec said firmly. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna leave until you _talk_ to me.”

Magnus didn’t say anything, looking down.

“…Remember when you said… _when things get crazy, don’t push me away?”_ Alec’s voice softened, and he reached forward to gently touch Magnus’s downturned face. “Please, Magnus. Don’t push me away.”

There was a tense moment, quiet and still.

And then Magnus looked up again, smile gone and shaking a little. “When I was tortured in Valentine’s body,” he began haltingly, uncertainly, “that agony rune made me relive my… _worst_ memories.”

He clenched his jaw. Now that he wasn’t faking a smile, it was so awfully clear that he was on the edge of breaking.

“And now I can’t get it—I can’t get it out of my head,” he said. His voice cracked halfway through his sentence, but he kept going, ignoring the tears building behind his eyes. “Every time I close my eyes…”

He pulled away from Alec, turning to practically collapse into a chair.

His broad shoulders were curled inwards, his defensive posture almost making him look… small.

“Hey,” Alec said, voice low and gentle. He kneeled in front of the chair, eye-level with Magnus. “What is it?”

“Remember how I told you that I found my mother dead by her own hand? My stepfather… he found me shortly after. He screamed at me. He called me an abomination.”

He seemed to curl further in on himself, like he was ashamed... but his tone was monotonous, almost numb.

“What?” Alec breathed, shocked. How could anyone think that Magnus was a monster? And going by Magnus’s tone… how could Magnus believe it?

Magnus’s jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth, and he let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. “He was right.”

Alec wanted to reach forward and touch him, hug him, but he was uncertain if touch would be welcome. It took all he had to restrain himself from launching himself forward and pulling his boyfriend into a tight hug.

“He blamed me for her suicide,” Magnus continued. There were tears in his eyes now. “He said that she hated herself for giving birth to a monster. ...So I lashed out. With all the magic I had.”

He was crying properly now, tears streaming down his cheeks. He could still hear his stepfather’s screams, echoing in his head after all these years.

“I _burned_ him, Alexander,” he said. “Right where he stood. I murdered my stepfather.”

Alec sounded unspeakably sad. “You were just a boy. You weren’t in control of his powers.”

“Yes, actually,” Magnus said, voice thick with tears. “I was.”

Even if he did have control of his magic, Alec thought, he had been a child. A boy, who had reacted to horrible things with an impulse to lash out, to protect himself with what resources he had. It was still hardly Magnus’s fault.

But he wasn’t sure Magnus needed reason right now, or logic. He needed support.

Magnus ducked his head, oblivious to his inner conflict. He was gritting his teeth, shaking his head. “I—I never wanted you to see this… this terrible, ugly side of me,” he said. He furiously wiped away some tears. “…Of my past.”

“Hey,” Alec said, soft and firm, catching his attention.

Magnus looked up, eyes full of tears.

“There is _nothing_ ugly about you,” Alec said gently, and he looked so _sincere_ and loving that Magnus’s heart ached.

Magnus looked shocked, like he’d expected disgust and rejection, and Alec couldn’t hold back anymore.

He leaned forward and hugged him, winding his arms around Magnus’s waist and pulling him close. Magnus easily went into it, burying his face in Alec’s shoulder, letting his tears dampen his shirt.

Magnus trembled a little in his arms, wondering if he should shut up now. Not say anything else. Act like this was all it was, that nothing else was haunting him.

But he could feel Alec’s arms tightly wrapped around him, the warm feeling in his chest from just… the love, the _support,_ the honest faith in him…

Alec would support him. Alec wouldn’t hate him.

“Alexander…” he murmured into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Alexander, that’s not… that’s not all.”

Alec pulled away slightly, his arms still loosely looped around him, but separating them enough they could make eye contact.

“Okay,” he said easily. “You can tell me anything, Magnus.”

“I’m…” Magnus’s voice died in his throat. His mouth felt dry. “The rune, it… it’s creative, Alexander. It’s not just memories, it’s _feelings._ And pain. It—it _hurts,_ you know, it hurts, and then it makes you feel miserable, reminds you of all your lowest points and makes you relive them, it takes the worst feelings in your life and forces them on you over and over and… there was something it _knew.”_

“…Knew?” Alec asked, confused.

“It’s not a secret,” Magnus said. He knew he was rambling a little. “I’m not—I wasn’t lying to you. Or trying to. But I understand if you’re upset.”

“Upset about _what,_ love?” Alec asked softly.

Magnus ignored the little butterflies in his stomach at being called _love._

“I’m trans,” he finally blurted out. Those two words that had ended many relationships, whether it be immediately (throwing themselves away from him, disgusted, or even just flinching slightly and then the _questions_ begin) or slowly (looking at him differently, fetishizing or categorizing and stereotyping).

Alec looked confused.

“Transgender,” Magnus said, looking down, not wanting to see Alec’s confusion turning to disgust.

But now that he’d started, it all came flooding out. “As in I—I was born with a… a _female_ body. I’m a _man,”_ he added fiercely, as if to punctate how serious he was, “But that—it took centuries to… to look like I do, to have what I look like match who I am inside. To feel right, or even to accept myself and find people who also accepted me. But before, when I was very young… and even later, when I barely passed in public… It was _suffocating._ There were good and bad days. On the best days, I could distract myself, pretend like it was fine. On the worst, I wanted to claw my skin off and cut away all the wrong parts.”

He heard Alec inhale sharply.

Magnus didn’t dare look at Alec’s expression.

“The agony rune,” Alec said softly—understanding and sadness in his voice. “It made you… relive that feeling?”

Magnus nodded, still not looking at him. “All the worst parts,” he said. “The—people insisting on calling me by the wrong names, the wrong pronouns. People who left me because of it, or used me for it. People who hurt me and hated me for it. And—”

He choked on the words slightly, but he kept going, finding he was unable to stop.

“— _you,”_ he said. “I was— _am—_ so scared to tell you. Scared you would hate me, would be… disgusted.” His voice broke on the last word. “And then… then I was _in the wrong body._ Again. And you were—you were looking at me like that. And that wasn’t the rune, it was… real.”

Alec looked heartbroken, not that Magnus could see. He was still refusing to look up.

“Magnus,” Alec said in a rather strangled voice. Magnus felt a hand cupping his face. Alec gently tipped his head up so Magnus was looking at him. He leaned forwards and kissed him—gentle, chaste—and then said, “I love you. Nothing could ever change that, especially not this.”

“I know it wasn’t—I know you didn’t know,” Magnus said, voice breaking a little. “But it _felt—_ and… It just made it worse. And the nightmares, it all just comes flooding back. My parents, being _like that…_ you. Others.”

Alec made a noise low in his throat.

 

Magnus waited for the questions.

Alec hadn’t asked yet, but Magnus knew he would. Everyone did, no matter how well-meaning.

_So you used to be a woman?_

_When did you decide to become a guy?_

_Why did you want to become a guy, anyway? Was it because of the sexism back then?_

_Are you sure you’re a man? What if you want to be a girl again someday?_

_Do you even **count** as a man—considering you weren’t born one?_

_If you’re really a man, why do you like girly things?_

_But you **look** like a man, I couldn’t even tell, how is that possible?_

_Do you ever regret turning? Do you miss the lady parts?_

_Is this why you’re bisexual?_

_Are you confused?_

_Oh, so that’s why you wear makeup and jewelry, right?_

_What did you look like back then? Did you make a hot chick?_

_What was your name?_

_What was it like, having boobs? Did you have sex back then?_

_Wait, so if you’re a woman and you like men, are you straight?_

_Do you still have a you-know-what down there? Wanna have some fun?_

Some of those, obviously, he knew Alec would never ask. Would never even think of saying.

But even the most well-intentioned of his past partners had asked uncomfortable questions. Sometimes out of curiosity, or ignorance, or just a well-meaning desire to make sure they knew the whole situation.

(Very few hadn’t asked such questions—mostly partners who had been trans themselves.)

He didn’t blame them, even if each question stabbed at him a little every time. He could hardly blame them for being curious, for not knowing.

And Alec was no different. Magnus had no doubt that he was curious, that he had questions. He just didn’t know exactly what Alec would want to know—or worse, _when_ he would ask.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” Alec said finally.

 _Sorry I have to leave you,_ Magnus finished in his head. _Sorry, but I’m into men, not… you. Sorry that I asked. Sorry that you’re like this._

He looked away, tears burning in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He knew that he was probably being ridiculous, that Alec wouldn’t say that… but it _hurt,_ damn it, and what if Alec was just like all the others? And honestly, could Magnus really blame him?

“I’m sorry I ever made you think that I’d ever hate you,” Alec said. “I’m sorry you felt—that I _made_ you feel like that. And that I didn’t believe you, when you were swapped. I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

He sounded almost… ashamed.

No, Alec—Alec wasn’t supposed to be the ashamed one, here.

And… he really didn’t…?

Alec looked back up at him, hazel eyes soft and sad. “I love you, Magnus,” he whispered. “I love every part of you. And every time I discover something new, it’s just more to love.”

“You love that I’m a monster and a murderer?” Magnus asked bitterly before he could stop himself. “You love that I’m—I’m a _freak_ that was born wrong?”

He was _not_ going to cry, no matter how much his eyes watered. He was _not._

“ _No.”_ said Alec forcefully, so loudly and firmly that Magnus jumped a little.

Then softer, he said, “No. No, of course not, sweetheart. That’s not what I meant at all.”

A few hot tears slipped down Magnus’s cheeks before he could stop them.

Alec reached out to gently cup his face. He gave Magnus plenty of time to pull away, but Magnus nuzzled into the touch. Alec’s calloused thumb gently wiped away the tears, and he said softly, “You’re not a monster or a freak.”

Magnus didn’t say anything, disagreeing or otherwise. Couldn’t say anything. A few more tears dripped down his face.

He hadn’t expected—

He’d _hoped_ for… acceptance. Well, hope was a strong word. He’d always _wanted_ to hope for it.  Hope for love—and not in spite of him being trans, but… loving that part of him, too. But he’d never seriously considered it was an option.

He’d more practically hoped that Alec would love him _despite_ his flaws.                                                                                                                                             

And yet…

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Alec said, and his hand was caressing the side of Magnus’s face. He sounded so… _warm,_ so gentle and sincere.

_There’s nothing ugly about you. There’s nothing wrong with you._

How did Alec always know just what to say to make his heart stutter and glow, to make him feel so much better?

Even when it seemed silly, an empty platitude because how could Alec possibly know what a monster he was… it was comforting. Because Alec completely believed it, and even if it wasn’t true Magnus was selfish enough to bask in it.

(And maybe, just maybe, a part of him was beginning to believe it. That maybe he was worth saving.)

A moment passed. Just Magnus avoiding his eyes, tears dampening his cheeks, and Alec’s hand cupping his face. And then finally, Magnus found his voice.

“I’m not perfect, you know,” he said quietly. His voice was a little raspy.

“I know,” Alec said, giving him a little smile. “But you’re as close as we can get.”

“I have flaws,” Magnus said, a little more insistently. “Lots of flaws. I’m clingy and selfish and…”

Alec almost laughed. “Selfish? _Selfish?_ You are… you’re the _least_ selfish person I’ve ever met.”

Magnus bit his lip. “I’m not perfect,” he said again.

“I know,” Alec said, hazel eyes looking into Magnus’s. “You’re flawed, just like everyone else. Just like me. But they make you who you are and—well, I _love_ who you are.”

Magnus blinked back a fresh wave of tears because _goddamn it,_ his boyfriend was so sweet.

“You’re selfless to a fault,” Alec continued, “and kinder and more forgiving then people deserve. Sometimes you’re clingy and cuddly and honestly, I _love_ it. You cheat at poker and mimic my totally _non-existent_ snoring.”

The last one was said playfully, and he even managed to get a little laugh from Magnus.

“I love you. I love all that, too. Even when we fight or you’ve annoyed me or whatever, that doesn’t change. Ever.”

“And… when I keep a secret like this? That I’m… that I’m trans?” Magnus said, soft and nervous.

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” Alec said. “I wish you had, but I’m not… I’m not angry or anything. And I don’t—you being trans, it’s… it’s not an issue, to me. You’re still who you were a few minutes ago. I still love you more than anything.”

He was stumbling a little awkwardly over his words, clearly unsure exactly how to voice his thoughts.

“You don’t… don’t you have questions?” Magnus asked.

“I admit I don’t know… I don’t know much about trans people,” Alec said. “But I know all I need to know about you. Your name is Magnus Bane, and you’re my wonderful, amazing boyfriend. Nothing will change that.”

Magnus was just… speechless.

“If there’s anything you _want_ to share with me,” Alec said hesitantly. “I’d listen. I’m always happy to learn more about you, as long as you’re comfortable with it.”

“I…” Magnus faltered. “I don’t know. There’s nothing I want to… _not_ tell you, I just… I don’t really know how to say it. I’ve never done this before.”

Alec’s brows furrowed together. “How could you never have done this before?” he asked. “Have you… never told anyone else?”

Seeing Magnus’s expression, he said quickly, “That’s your choice, of course, I’m just… kind of surprised.”

“No,” Magnus said quietly. “I’ve told people before. They just… usually don’t take it so well.”

Alec actually looked kind of surprised for a moment, then sad and understanding. “That’s their loss,” he said.

“It wasn’t all of them,” Magnus said, suddenly feeling the need to express that it wasn’t _all_ bad, that he wasn’t some pitiful tragedy. “I had many lovers who never cared, and some of my dearest friends have known for centuries. But most of them were either already trans themselves or they knew trans people or… they had questions, but… they accepted me. But never just…”

He made a vague gesture towards Alec, like he didn’t have the words.

Alec leaned forward, hand sliding up to cup the back of his head as he kissed Magnus’s forehead.

Magnus’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling the gentle pressure of Alec’s lips on his forehead.

Alec’s arms wound around him, closed lips still firmly pressed to his skin, fingers coming up to stroke through his hair. Finally, he pulled away, hugging Magnus tightly. Magnus tilted his head down, face pressed against Alec’s chest.

He gave a shuddering exhale, relaxing against his boyfriend. Alec’s fingers continued to gently rub against his scalp in a soothing, repetitive motion.

“If you want,” Alec began softly, “we can just… we can sleep for now. It’s late. We can talk about this tomorrow, or another time.”

“Do you not want to talk about it?”

Magnus could feel Alec’s sigh tousle his hair a little. “I just want you to be comfortable,” he said. “I want you to be happy.”

Magnus smiled into his shirt. “I am,” he whispered. “I’m very happy, and I’m comfortable. Alexander, I feel… I feel safe with you. I really do.”

Alec squeezed him a little tighter, and Magnus sighed contently.

He hadn’t realized how much this had been bothering him, not really—not until the burden had been lifted, and he felt like he’d been carrying the sky for so long that he’d forgotten how heavy it was.

Alec didn’t care.

No, better than that—he _did_ care. But he wasn’t bothered or judging him, and he wasn’t full of prickling questions that crawled under Magnus’s skin. He fully accepted Magnus, loved him for everything he was.

It was more than he’d ever dreamed of, more than he’d ever imagined was in store for him.

“I do want to talk about it,” Magnus said finally. “You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t ever judge me, and… I’d like to talk about it.”

“Do you want to go to bed and talk there?” Alec asked. “Or wait?”

Magnus didn’t move from his quite comfy spot resting against Alec’s chest. “I wouldn’t mind going to bed,” he admitted.

He made a sleepy noise and began to push himself into an upright position, but then Alec’s arms adjusted and he began to stand. Magnus yelped as he was swept up in his boyfriend’s arms, now in a bridal carry.

He squirmed a little, not putting in any real effort to escape. “Alec, what are you doing?”

Alec strained a little with the effort—Magnus wasn’t exactly light, but Alec was very strong. He wouldn’t get tired for a while.

“You looked a little tired, love,” Alec said, smiling at him. “Would you mind if I carried you to bed?”

Magnus gave up his pretense of struggling. “Well, alright.”

He said it as if he were allowing something, but secretly he rather enjoyed it. Alec’s strong arms holding him up, relaxing in his embrace…

Alec walked to the bedroom, being careful not to let Magnus hit anything on the way.

And when they got there, he gently placed Magnus on the bed, lying him down on the sheets.

“Do you wanna get dressed?” Alec asked.

“I’ll just…” Magnus waved his hand vaguely. He pushed himself into a slightly more upright position.

“Okay,” Alec said, lips curled up into a soft smile. He began stripping—he usually slept only in boxers, or on some occasions, naked. He made quick work of his clothes, eager to lie down with Magnus.

Magnus snapped his fingers, and his clothes of the day were gone, replaced by one of his usual comfortable silk robes.

Alec’s eyes raked up and down his body, and Magnus preened a little under the attention.

He was beautiful as always—the silk gown draped over his muscular body, the low light softening his edges and giving him a rather dreamlike quality. He’d magicked away his makeup, and his hair was tousled and unstyled, and he looked utterly _bare_.

He always looked gorgeous, but like this—right before bed, ruffled and bare and draped in colorful silk, he looked _particularly_ amazing.

Magnus seemed to realize Alec was staring.

(He knew that it was because Alec _always_ stared when he was like this, Alec thought he was beautiful, and that was that. No matter _what_ his insecurities whispered, Alec didn’t think it was girly or feminine and it was _fine._ Fine. Alec loved him, this wasn’t anything but love and attraction, so _shut up.)_

Alec finally shook himself from his daze. “You look ridiculously handsome as always,” he said.

Magnus smiled up at him. “Join me, then?”

Alec lowered himself onto the bed, climbing on top of his boyfriend and straddling him. Magnus leaned up to pull him into a kiss, cupping Alec’s face and letting himself melt into the kiss.

Alec’s arms wound around him, caging him in, hands on the bed on either side of him, and Magnus pressed up against him eagerly.

The minutes blended together, both of them lost in exchanging soft kisses, until Magnus was smiling so much it was hard to continue.

Alec pushed him down on the bed, leaning down to kiss him again. Magnus moaned slightly into the kiss, relaxing under his boyfriend.

He could feel the silk of his robe rubbing against his skin, he could feel the pressure of the mattress on his back and the warm weight of Alec on top of him.

God, this felt nice.

He felt clean, light, warm. The crushing pressure of his memories was still there but it was muted, so muted he almost couldn’t feel it.

Alec shifted, pulling away to look at his face, his hands gently slid under Magnus’s robe.

Magnus stiffened a little—as much as he was enjoying this, he really didn’t feel like having sex right now. He was emotionally exhausted, and while a small part of him craved the reassurance that Alec still found him attractive, that this wouldn’t change anything, he didn’t want it _now._

But as if Alec had read his mind, the touches didn’t get sexual. His hands didn’t go below his hips, didn’t go near his groin. Instead, they just gently swept up and down his sides, a slow and reassuring back-and-forth rhythm.

Magnus let his eyes fall shut again, sighing contently. He felt soft lips on his forehead, right above his right eye—on his beauty mark?

Magnus lazily opened one eye. Alec beamed at him, hands stilling.

“So….” Alec began hesitantly, smile not quite fading but eyes becoming more serious.

Magnus blinked up at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Do you want to talk now,” Alec asked quietly, “Or…?”

“Let’s sleep,” Magnus said. His voice was soft but for the first time all night, certain. “Tomorrow… tomorrow we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Alec said simply. He shuffled onto his side, one arm still draped over Magnus, pulling him closer.

Magnus turned on his side so that they were facing each other, scooting a little closer. He shifted a little until he got comfortable, then settled down, comfortably positioned in Alec’s arms.

“I love you,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“I love you, too,” Alec said softly. He kissed Magnus’s forehead, and then he went still.

The only movement or noise in the room was their breathing.

And not too long after, Magnus drifted off, peaceful and smiling.

His pain wasn’t gone, it wasn’t fixed. The trauma was still there, and it was very likely he’d wake up to a nightmare.

But he’d wake up in Alec’s arms, and for now, that was enough.

He was happy and he was safe.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i was just thinking like magnus being trans would make the whole body swap a thousand times worse (what with dysphoria making you feel like you're in the wrong body, and that being made LITERAL, plus people he loves turning on him and the bad memories, etc.) and then this fic was born. it sort of evolved into it's own thing (what with a bunch of headcanons about magnus's past showing up lol)
> 
> note: not every transmasculine person feels this way (the way magnus feels in this fic) it's just mostly based on my own experiences.
> 
> also the whole thing on "i blame him i blame him not" is like because i myself have super conflicted feelings on whether alec is to blame, and i'm not the one who got hurt because of it so??  
> i mean like on one hand, is it REALLY alec's fault? how could he have trusted valentine, the guy who's like, horribly hurt a lot of people he cares about, both indirectly and very directly/personally (jace and magnus in particular)? not to mention he was already a little messed up because of other things.  
> but like on the other hand, "valentine in magnus's body" was acting hella suspicious and valentine was saying/doing things i honestly don't think valentine would do even as a disguise. plus, there's a whole "don't you know your boyfriend well enough to see he's not himself???" and such. and of course this is just one incident among many where alec basically defaulted back to following the clave/his superiors/jace (aka, shadowhunters) rather than taking initiative and/or trusting magnus. although that's a little bit of a black and white way to say it.  
> plus this whole fic is adding another complex layer to what magnus is feeling what with him being trans, afraid of rejection, the dysphoria, etc.  
> basically it's super complicated and i'm bad at things!!! honestly, if this weren't more focused on my trans magnus headcanons, i might have an angstier ending (i mean magnus probably needed some space after 2x12 let's be real) but i wanted a happy and fluffy ending for this after all that hurt, especially as it's more about him being trans. if that makes sense.  
> aNYWAY tl;dr i'm not blaming or absolving alec i'm just trying to write a super complex situation realistically while not focusing on the worst parts lol so please no one yell at me
> 
> and as for the continued theme of "sometimes magnus deals with awful pain by just crying and letting alec hold him" in my angsty magnus fics.... look... i'm a strong believer in "a good cry, especially while cuddling with someone you care about (not that i would know lmao) is the best (even if only temporary) remedy to overwhelming Sadness." so it's gonna keep happening lol
> 
> THIS WAS BETA-READ BY THE WONDERFUL [broken_fannibal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_fannibal/pseuds/broken_fannibal) THANKS SO MUCH! (their shadowhunters blog is [here](https://brokenwarlock.tumblr.com/).)


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